Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like silence broke, And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke. At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires; At once the loud alarum clashed from all her reeling spires; From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear; And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer: And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet, And the broad streams of flags and pikes rushed down each roaring street: And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in : And eastward straight, from wild Blackheath, the warlike errant went, And raised in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent. Southward, from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth; High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the North; And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still, All night from tower to tower they sprang; they sprang from hill to hill, Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales, Till like volcanoes flared to Heaven the stormy hills of Wales, Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height, Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light, Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane, And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain; Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent; Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile, And the red glare of Skiddaw roused the burghers Lord Macaulay of Carlisle. XLII THE TAR FOR ALL WEATHERS I sail'd from the Downs in the Nancy, As ever sail'd on the salt seas. So adieu to the white cliffs of Britain, Our girls and our dear native shore! For if some hard rock we should split on, And where the gale drives we must go. When we entered the Straits of Gibraltar She yaw'd just as tho' she was drunk. And where the gale drives we must go. The storm came on thicker and faster, Befel three poor sailors and I. Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail, And where the gale drives we must go. Poor Ben, Sam, and Dick cried peccavi, While they sank down in peace to old Davy, Well, what would you have? We were stranded, And out of a fine jolly crew Of three hundred that sail'd, never landed But I, and I think, twenty-two. But sailors were born for all weathers, And where the gale drives we must go. C. Dibdin XLIII THE FISHERMAN A perilous life, and sad as life may be, O'er the wild waters labouring far from home, The lonely fisher thus must ever fare: Without the comfort, hope,-with scarce a friend, He looks through life and only sees its end! B. Cornwall XLIV THE SAILOR Thou that hast a daughter With snow upon his head : That sails upon the sea! 4 How luckless is the sailor As none beside thee can. Thou sayst to me, 'Stand, stand up ;' Lift me a little from the deck, My hands and feet are cold. And let my head, I pray thee, Now bring the chart, the doleful chart; Cast anchor here; 'tis deep and safe The little anchor on the right, The great one on the left. And now to thee, O captain, |